Fuck.
A knot forms in my stomach and I run my fingers through my hair.
My worst fears are all but confirmed by her lack of response.
“Let’s focus on what’s inside this room, rather than worrying about what’s outside of it,” Lee says, trying to pull us back on track. “Alexander, I believe you’ve prepared something you want to say?” Her gaze drifts down to my notebook.
But it’s too late.
I’m already in a full-blown downward spiral, and I’m rapidly sinking further with each successive thought.
The label has definitely dropped me.
All my sponsorship deals will have been canceled.
And my fans are no doubt leaving in droves, burning everything of mine they own.
A surge of panic floods my body.
“I can’t.”
I tear the pages from the notebook, chuck them on the table, and storm to the door. My parents rise, but Lee urges them to stay put as I exit. My legs give out halfway down the hall, and I collapse by the wall onto the floor.
I burrow my head into my hands. Tears flow uncontrollably from my eyes.
“It’s okay, Alexander. It’s okay.” Lee bends down beside me to rub my back.
“It’s not… It’s all over… My life is over.”
My words are barely audible between the sobbing and sniffling.
What’s the point in writing all those letters, of making amends, if my whole life has been destroyed?
After a few minutes, Lee removes her hand and grips my arm.
“Come on. Let’s get you up.”
“I can’t go back in there.” I wipe my eyes and nose with the sleeve of my sweater.
The thought of seeing them again right now, or seeing anyone I know, is enough to send me back into the abyss.
“I know. Let’s get you back to your room.” Lee nods at a passing staff member to help get me up. “Don’t worry about your family, I’ll deal with them.”
I’ve been stewing for a few hours, pacing up and down in my room. The door to my room has been left open, a condition to being left alone today. The facility members are worried that I might do something stupid.
The slice of chocolate birthday cake that Lee dropped off once my family left remains uneaten on the table. Her reassurance, that my family will be okay, did little to absolve the guilt I’ve been feeling ever since walking out on them. There was only slight relief when she told me that they would be back tomorrow at the same time if I was able and willing to stay and talk.
The road to redemption starts with a single step, she’d shared just before she left for the night. The words are written down and circled at the top of a fresh page in my notebook. Without knowing exactly what out there in the real world I need to redeem myself from, I don’t know what first step to take. Which can only mean one thing.
My stomach sickens at the thought.
I have to make a call to Paul.
The one person in the world I want to speak to less than my family.
But right now, I’m powerless. And until I get my career back on track, firing him will only add to the ever-growing list of problems I’m facing. And if there’s one thing he’s good at, that Connie is good at, it’s dealing with a crisis.
The problem is that I don’t have any of their numbers memorized, one of the many downsides of being so reliant on technology. And it’s not like I can ask the rehab folks to give me my phone to call them, considering I smashed it in the dressing room after I was escorted offstage in the midst of my meltdown.
